


Rascals and Scoundrels

by Silikat



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Age of Sail AU, And all of that nonsense, Avon and Blake sniping at each other, Gen, Not that I'm gonna pin this down to an exact real-world time, Pirates AU, Rebels and Fools, Swashbuckling Adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 16:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silikat/pseuds/Silikat
Summary: Out in the sun-baked waters of the Caribbean, Captain Blake stands on the deck of his ship, the Liberator, and smiles. He may be on the run, the Empire close at his heels, with only a sparse crew of reluctant rebels at his back, but he has the freedom of the ocean and the taste of liberty, and he will fight to keep them his.





	Rascals and Scoundrels

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written for the [Rebels and Fools](https://rebelsandfools.tumblr.com/post/164487288938/rebels-and-fools-issue-1) zine! It was so fun to write, and I was so glad to be able to contribute to this amazing project. It's so good, you guys! Check it out at the link there, and see the end note for more rambling on why I wrote this.
> 
> Warning for a slight depiction of violence, but nothing graphic.

“Blake! There’s a ship!”

The cry went up from the crow’s nest, and Captain Roj Blake glanced up instinctively. Vila was scurrying down the rigging, climbing hand-over-hand like an anxious monkey, his waistcoat billowing off his thin body. He jumped down to the deck, boots clattering against the hard wood. His face was a mask of worry.

“It’s Travis,” he said, holding a telescope out to Blake. He took it and peered through at the approaching sail. Sure enough, the familiar outline of Travis’ galley, the _Lady Servalan_ , was apparent against the brilliant blue ocean and sky. The afternoon sun was blinding as it sparkled off the sea – it was impressive that Vila had seen the ship at all. Blake scowled, lowering the telescope.

“Jenna?” he called. The fair-haired woman at the helm jerked her head up in acknowledgement. Blake hurried to her side, automatically placing a hand on the wheel as he arrived.

“It’s Travis, off our starboard aft.”

“I heard.” Jenna’s face was stern as she glanced across to the silhouette of the _Lady Servalan,_ already increasing in size. “What do you want to do?”

“Any chance we can outrun him?” Blake’s tone was resigned; he knew the answer, he just needed the confirmation.

Jenna wiped her forehead with the back of her shirtsleeve. Beneath the tightly-knotted white bandana she wore, her forehead was slicked with sweat. “We’ve barely any wind, Blake,” she said. “The _Liberator_ is fast, but Travis has oarsmen. With no wind, even Zen won’t be an advantage.”

Blake nodded in understanding, his frown deep. “Leave it to me, then, and get ready for a fight. Gan?” This last he yelled out to the deck. Gan, a brawny ex-farmer whose shirt was open halfway down his broad torso, was stood with Vila at the rail, looking out at the galley. At Blake’s call, they both turned.

“Get tooled up, then man the guns. Vila, you too.”

Gan nodded, but a look of panic settled on Vila’s face. “Blake, we’re not gonna fight them, are we?”

“We have no choice, Vila. There’s no wind.” He looked back to Jenna, cutting off Vila’s squawk of protest. “You get kitted out. I’ll take the helm.”

Jenna gave a grunt of affirmation, following Vila and Gan down the hatchway in the middle of the ship, heading below decks. Not for the first time, Blake looked across the empty deck and ruefully wished that he had more crew.

“Ah, our valiant leader takes the helm,” drawled a voice from below. Blake rolled his eyes. Sure enough, Kerr Avon, resplendent in his black shirt and silk waistcoat, came swaggering up the steps to him. “What mortal peril do we find ourselves in this time?”

“Glad you could join us, Avon,” was Blake’s curt reply. “Care to actually engage in some swordplay this time?” He eyed up the rapier hanging from Avon’s belt. Less hardy than his own cutlass, but it would serve. It was a small miracle that Avon was armed at all.

“Travis,” Avon said, squinting into the distance. He snarled, rounding on Blake. “And we’re barely making three knots. If you’d sunk him off Port Royal as I told you-”

“We would have had every gun in the King’s Navy pointed at us.” Blake said calmly. “Now, if you want to be useful, prepare yourself for battle. Otherwise, get back to your cabin.”

Blake’s hands fell from the wheel. He was admitting defeat – there was no reason to stay at the helm, not with Travis nipping at their heels and Cally still to rouse. Leaving Avon behind, he charged down the steps, one last order barked over his shoulder as he went.

“Zen! As much speed as you can, but prepare her to turn hard to starboard!”

As Blake glanced back, he could just about see the faint outline of the ghostly Zen at the helm – a middle-aged man in outdated sailor’s dress, eyes blank as he gripped the wheel with transparent hands. Ropes wiggled across the deck like snakes as he crossed to the hatchway, sails hoisted themselves into place without a human hand to hold the rope. When the sunlight hit the deck, Blake could almost see them; copies of Zen scattered about the deck, hauling and heaving, his ghostly hands making light work of the task, his face as blank as ever. Involuntarily, Blake shuddered as he headed below.

It took him a moment to adjust to the darkness below decks, but when he did, Blake saw a flurry of motion. Jenna was methodically loading pistols and setting them out on a table, while Vila and Gan were preparing the guns for action. Cally was nowhere to be seen. Of course not – she was probably resting in her cabin, if Vila had taken over from her on watch.

Blake strode across to a small door, which headed to her cabin. He knocked on the door, and heard a prompt “Come in,” from inside. He opened the door, and saw Cally sitting on a table, cross-legged, cleaning one of her pistols.

“Cally,” he said, and she looked up at him. The top half of her face was in shadow beneath the tricorn hat she wore, her hair short, loose and unruly beneath it. He could see the glint of more guns tucked into the hidden pockets of her forest-green waistcoat, and more in her bulky black jacket.

“I know,” Cally said, her hands not stopping their work. “Jenna told me.”

Blake nodded. “Just be sure you’re ready. If it comes to a fight, we’ll need you.”

“It will,” Cally said flatly. “He’s too close to escape, and you know Travis will take no quarter if he catches us.”

Blake nodded again, her words just confirming his suspicions. “Be on the guns with Gan and Vila – make sure they’re giving their all, especially Vila. Come up on deck the second you hear me shout for you.”

Cally put her pistol aside, reaching for a small bag of gunpowder. “Understood, Blake.” She looked up at him, warmth in her dark eyes. “Good luck.”

“You too,” said Blake, and made for the main deck again. Jenna followed on, handing him a greatcoat which, he knew, was laden with firearms. He slipped it on and emerged blinking onto the deck, the heat causing drops of sweat to form on the back of his neck.

Avon was leaning on the door to his cabin, now fully dressed in a black overcoat and tricorn. His jaw was set – Blake knew there would be arguments later, but at that moment his every thought was set on Travis. He glanced off to starboard. Travis’ ship, with its gloomy black sails, was closer than ever. He could almost make out the figure of her commander standing solemnly at the forecastle, staring right at the _Liberator_ with his one good eye.

“Zen!” Blake barked. “Bring her round! Hard to starboard!”

As Zen obliged, the ship began to turn beneath Blake’s feet. He could almost feel Avon’s glare boring a hole through the back of his head. He ran a hand through his thick, curly hair, turning on his heel to face his crew, such as they were. Jenna was leaning on the rail, her expression tense as Travis’ ship approached. Avon was, as he had predicted, looking daggers at Blake.

“There’s the cream of the King’s Navy on that ship,” Avon hissed. “At least twenty good fighting men, plus the sailors, plus Travis’ officers. And what do we have, Blake? Six rogues and a _ghost_? We’re sunk, and you know it.”

“We’ve weathered this before, we’ll do so again. Trust the _Liberator_ , Avon,” was Blake’s measured reply. He stared at Travis’ ship through his telescope, silently judging distances as they drew ever nearer.

“Sooner or later, your luck is going to run dry,” Avon muttered, a hand to his rapier. But Blake wasn’t listening. They were almost in shouting range of the _Lady Servalan_. It was time.

“Gunners ready!” Blake cried, snapping his telescope shut. It was met by Gan’s answering affirmation from below – and a shout from Travis, who Blake could now see clearly. He cut a figure in his dark Admiral’s uniform, hair long and pulled back into a queue, his left eye covered by a black eyepatch. He raised his arm in a mock-greeting, and the hook that replaced his missing hand glimmered in the bright sunlight.

“Surrender, Blake!” he called from his ship. “Surrender, and I’ll only kill _you_.” He grinned, the expression cold and hard.

The corner of Blake’s mouth twitched, and he muttered to Avon. “He’ll be hesitant to fire on us, remember. His duty is to capture the _Liberator_ before killing us.”

Avon’s face was a stone. “High stakes to gamble our lives upon, Blake.”

“I’ve told you, Avon. We must take risks.”

“My life isn’t yours to risk,” Avon began, but Blake had already begun to stride away. The _Liberator_ was finally drawing parallel with the _Lady Servalan_ , and Blake had orders to give.

Travis had come down from the forecastle now and was standing at the rail, flanked by his soldiers on either side. “Come on, Blake, what’s your answer?” he shouted across, but Blake paid him no heed. His entire body was tensed, and he stared across at the galley with apprehension. _Liberator’s_ hull was almost brushed up against the _Lady Servalan_ , the two ships close enough that he could, if he wished, jump across without too much trouble.

“Fire!”

The deafening boom of the _Liberator_ ’s guns shot through the ship. The volley smashed through Travis’ hull, cracks splintering the polished wood. Travis’ face was murder, but it was growing smaller – already, Zen was bringing her round for another attack.

Travis turned, shouting orders to his men. Some were rushing about on deck, holding military-issue muskets and rifles. Blake smirked. That was the disadvantage of those old galleys, no room to fit a cannon aboard. Now they were close, the _Liberator_ had the upper hand.

Sure enough, soon they had turned and were once again within firing range of the _Lady Servalan_. There was the sound of shots from the rival ship – the soldiers were firing their rifles, but the _Liberator_ was moving a touch too fast for them to keep up, and all of their shots flew over the crew’s heads. Avon muttered a curse as one of them slammed into the wood of his cabin door, just above his head, and Blake smirked.

“Fire again!”

Once more, the guns boomed beneath them, and this time the hull split open. Blake could just about see the figures of the oarsmen through the smoke – guiltily, he hoped they were conscripted men who had signed up for this, and not prisoners or worse. But there was no time to think about that now, he thought as he pulled a pistol from his jacket. It was time to fight.

“Cally, Vila, Gan, on deck!” he called. “We’re going to board her!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Blake could see Jenna pulling a cutlass from her belt, Avon approaching the rail with a guarded expression. The others came up through the hatch, Vila biting his lip in concentration. The ship swung around, closer still to the _Lady Servalan_ , their hulls almost scraping.

“Zen!” Blake shouted, “Keep her ready for us!” And with that, he stepped up onto the rail, and took a rope in his hand, grinning as he loosed it from his mooring. He held on tight as he jumped from the rail, swinging across to Travis’ ship.

The deck was before him crawling with soldiers and sailors. Travis stood by the forecastle, a sword in his hand and a scowl on his face. The bullets whizzing through the air had died down – the soldiers on the forecastle were reloading – and Travis was beginning to shout orders to the men in front of him.

There was no time for talk. Blake saw that his crew was behind him, primed to join the fighting – with a bloodthirsty grin, he pointed his cutlass forward, and rushed out into the fray.

Instantly, there was chaos. Soldiers, seeing Blake’s crew stepping over onto the _Lady Servalan_ , hastened in reloading their muskets – sailors pulled knives and swords from their belts and advanced on the attackers. Blake could see Avon standing at the rail, shooting into the mass of sailors rushing towards them, Jenna cutting three through with one swipe of her sword, Gan elbowing sailors out of the way to make way for Cally, who was swinging around fast as lightning to run them through. He couldn’t see Vila, something which might have worried him were he paying attention.

Across the deck, Travis stood at the forecastle, a sword held clumsily in his hand. There was a good line of sailors between him and Blake, all armed and ready to fight. Blake surged forwards, his sword lashing out at the nearest sailors to him. His blade met steel; he looked up to see the snarling face of a burly man, whose knife he had caught in his swing. He whipped his arm around, delivering the man a heavy blow to his side. He barely had the time to look shocked before blood began to spurt from the wound.

Blake turned, to find another two sailors bearing down on him. One said something, the words lost to the deafening clash of metal on metal, the grunts and groans of wounded men and the occasional pistol-crack. Blake’s head was aching – something about the smell of gunpowder and blood on the sea air was taking him back to another place, another battle. He shook his head to clear it, which gave the sailors enough time to attack. One swung a wooden club at his head; Blake managed to raise his sword-arm at the last moment to catch it before it thudded into his skull. The other was brandishing a knife, making to jab for Blake’s exposed belly. Blake swore, kicking the first sailor in the chest. The man staggered back, and Blake swung his sword back down just in time to hear the sound of steel meeting steel, the knife perilously close to his shirt.

He pushed back, throwing the second man off him, then elbowed him in the head. As Blake had expected, he fell to the deck, and Blake ran across to Travis. As he ran, dodging fighting men left and right, he looked back to scan the crowd. Gan’s familiar bulk was the first thing he spotted, knocking two men’s heads together by the mast. Jenna and Cally fought back-to-back, surrounded by a circle of enemies. Avon was still at the rail, rapier in hand, expertly parrying the men who surrounded him.

Blake’s attention snapped back to Travis. His foe was now flanked by two soldiers, both with muskets pointed straight at Blake. He skidded to a halt a few feet away from Travis, using the momentum to collide straight with one of the soldiers, the two of them tumbling to the deck. There was a deafening crack, and a splintering noise – his shot had gone up and into the cabin door behind Travis, the other soldier’s shot whizzing harmlessly over Blake’s head. Blake smashed the hilt of his cutlass into the fallen soldier’s head, then struggled to his feet.

The other soldier had dropped his musket, pulling a sword from his belt. Blake lunged at him, the soldier feinting back then coming around to swing for Blake’s torso. Blake parried, then pushed his full weight onto the blade to knock the soldier off-balance. He staggered, and Blake used the opening to spring forwards, burying his blade in the man’s neck.

“You fight like a desperate man, Blake,” said a voice behind his ear. There was a click, the sound of a pistol being cocked.

Blake spun around. Travis stood behind him, his sword back in its scabbard, a pistol in his one good hand and a grin on his face. “One last time. Give yourself up, and you and your crew get to live a little longer.”

“I won’t surrender the _Liberator_ to you,” said Blake. Though his voice was calm, he could feel his heart thudding in his chest. His cutlass, spattered with blood, was still in his hand, but he wasn’t faster than a bullet. If Travis shot, he would be dead before he could react.

Travis opened his mouth as though to say something, but there was a shout from behind them. Travis turned his head, his arm and gun still pointed at Blake.

“Sir! Rounded them up!”

A soldier stood by the mast, his sword held threatening before the neck of a small, squirming man. _Vila_ , thought Blake, _what have you gotten yourself into?_

Looking across the deck, the rest of his crew looked similarly destitute. Jenna, Cally, and Gan were backed into a corner at the stern, surrounded by a circle of Travis’ men. Avon was on the other side of the ship. His rapier lay on the deck before him, and he scowled with his hands in the air as three soldiers with rifles stood in front of him, their fingers on the trigger.

Travis looked back to Blake with a smile on his face. He cleared his throat, and at that second something clicked in Blake’s mind. Travis spoke, but his taunt went over Blake’s head.

Blake stepped forward, using the other man’s gloating to strike Travis’ gun arm, knocking it to the side where his shot went wild. With his other hand, he raised his cutlass to point straight at Travis’ throat. Travis raised his hook, catching the blade before it could touch him. Blake threw all his strength into the blade, straining against Travis’ hook. The cutlass slipped, staggering Travis; Blake stepped around him, grabbing the man’s throat from behind and holding his cutlass close.

Travis swallowed, his already pale face whitening a few shades.

“You were saying?” Blake asked, unable to stop a cocky smile from creeping onto his face. “I think I’d like you to release my crew, now.”

Travis closed his eyes, then spoke carefully, acutely aware of the bite of steel on his exposed throat. “You’ll regret this, Blake.”

“My crew. Now.”

With a scowl, Travis called out the order to his men. They looked back to their leader with incredulity, then slowly began to lower their weapons. Avon wasted no time in retrieving his rapier, then swinging back over to the _Liberator_. Vila followed, darting out of his captor’s grasp like a greased whippet. Jenna, Gan and Cally were more hesitant, looking up to Blake for confirmation of what they should do.

“Just go!” Blake called to them. “I’ll follow you.”

“And how are you going to do that, _Captain_ Blake?” Travis spat, the colour returning to his cheeks. “The second you move this sword, my men will have surrounded you.”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Blake said airily, only half-listening. Jenna was swinging back across to the _Liberator_ , the last of his crew on the _Lady Servalan_ , and already Travis’ men were coming towards Blake, swords and muskets glinting in their hands. They were blocking the safe route from where he stood to the _Liberator_ , and every second he hesitated he lost more ground. He had to act.

“Zen,” Blake shouted with all his might. “Get out of here, fast!” He could see the shadowy figure on deck beginning to act, the ship turning away from them. _Time to go_ , he thought, bracing himself for what was next.

In one smooth move, he drew his sword arm back, letting go of Travis and sprinting across the _Lady Servalan_ ’s deck. The soldiers and sailors stood, too shocked to move, as Blake dived off the side of the ship, hitting the water below hard. His body stung as though he had been slapped, but he held his breath and kept his eyes shut, concentrating on moving his limbs. He thrashed his way through the water, the taste of salt in his mouth, until one hand touched the hull of the _Liberator_ under the water. Then he knew he could surface.

He broke the ocean’s surface with a gasp, looking around to get his bearings. Above him loomed the _Liberator_ , the small, familiar figures of Gan and Jenna gaping at him. Someone threw him a rope; he grabbed it, and let them haul him back onto deck, his clothes soaked and clinging to him. He glanced back to the _Lady Servalan_ with a smile. As he had thought, Travis’ ship had taken too much damage to pursue them. They were in the clear.

“That was close,” he grinned. Jenna smirked; there was a general thankful laugh from the others. Blake cast an eye over his crew. None of them seemed grievously wounded. Jenna had a blood-soaked bandage around her upper arm, and Gan was sporting an impressive black eye, but nothing life-threatening.

“Too close.” Avon was standing apart from them, that insufferable glower of disapproval on his face. “And what did we gain from that, Blake? Other than the knowledge that we were, once again, hopelessly outnumbered.”

Blake resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “For one, the _Lady Servalan_ is going to need some serious repairs,” he ventured.

“Well, hooray for us.” Avon’s dark eyes were stern.

“Alright,” said Blake. “I was hoping to raid Travis’ cabin, see what intelligence about the Empire’s actions I could pick up. Now-”

Vila coughed, sloping forwards from his position leaning against the rail. “Actually,” he said. “On that subject…” He fumbled in his waistcoat with one hand, drawing something from one of his many his hidden pockets. After a moment, his hand emerged, with a few sealed documents inside.

Blake couldn’t stop himself grinning as Vila handed them over. “Thought they’d be interesting to someone, anyway,” Vila said, by way of explanation. “Most of ‘em are in code, but that’s no problem for our resident strategist, eh Avon? Oh, and I nabbed some shiny things, too.” He drew out something glittering from his pocket – a pendant on a gold chain, a sack of coins, gold shining under the bright sun.

“Good work, Vila,” Blake said. “Good work, everyone.” He turned, looking back towards the ship’s wheel. “Zen, take us to the nearest safe port. I think this calls for a little celebration.”

The crew seemed enthused about the idea, with one exception. Jenna and Cally were smiling, and Gan looked content at the prospect of a few hours on shore. Avon, however, just shook his head, disappearing into his cabin.

“Come on,” said Vila. “Drinks are on me! Well, the first round, anyway.”

* * *

Blake looked around the gloomy inn with a frown, surveying the room’s dark interior. It seemed that everyone but him was enjoying themselves. All around him, pirates and sailors were carousing and singling, alcohol sloshing in their tankards, their off-key warbling grating to Blake’s ears. In the corner, he spotted Vila and Gan, seated next to a man who was plucking at a two-stringed guitar. Vila, face flushed with wine, had a girl on each knee and was talking to them with animated hand gestures. Blake couldn’t hear what he was saying – probably an exaggerated account of their exploits, if he knew Vila. Gan sat beside with a mug of beer, smirking at Vila’s tale.

Blake shook his head. At least someone was enjoying himself, he thought. Jenna and Cally were off buying another round, and Avon was back on the ship, probably still sulking about the skirmish with Travis. Blake would be more worried if he hadn’t left Zen with strict instructions not to sail until the entire crew was on board. Zen seemed to prioritise Blake’s word over anyone else’s, which came in handy when Travis tried to take the ship – and when Avon threatened to do the same.

Glancing around, Blake spotted Jenna arguing with the barman, her hand hovering dangerously close to the knife at her belt. Cally hung behind, her dark gaze protective. Blake smiled to see it. Any other man would worry for the safety of two young ladies in a disreputable establishment like this. Blake was just worried about the barman.

A small smile broke out on his face. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how he got here. But a year ago, he had through that he was an honest, law-abiding citizen of England – now he was a buccaneer, wanted by the Crown for countless crimes.

He didn’t know how it had all begun. He’d had it told to him, in many forms. The story of Roj Blake, younger son of a minor aristocratic family. He had, taking umbrage at the restrictive policies of the Crown and striving for universal freedom, turned pirate and sunk English ships in the hope of getting what he wanted. Captain Roj Blake, fierce and bold, had been a notorious rebel against the Empire and its soldiers.

Until…

Until one day, a few years ago. Blake had been fighting a navy ship off the English coast. Admiral Travis, then just a Commodore, had fought hard against Blake’s rebels. In the skirmish, Blake had managed to cut out Travis’ eye and slice off his hand – but then Travis had knocked him back on the desk, and he was captured.

He remembered none of it. Occasionally, flashes of the battle would return. Travis’ face flushed red, blood pouring from his wound. The taste of copper in his mouth, the deafening clamour of steel on steel all around him. Falling, backwards and downwards, almost paralysed. Then darkness.

He lost the memories when he hit his head. A brain injury, the physicians said. He remembered the confession that he signed, though none of what it said. His hands shook as he held the quill pen; his signature was barely legible. But he signed, and received a full pardon, under certain conditions.

That was Lady Servalan’s doing. She was a noblewoman of the court who was said to have the King’s ear, and knew more of the goings-on in the land than any man. Lady Servalan was the one who had steered him towards redemption, according to the broadsheets. She had convinced him to name some of his accomplices to be thrown on the King’s Justice, and become a privateer.

Blake’s fingers traced the back of his neck, where old white scars stood out against his skin. That was the part of the story that he doubted most of all. From what he’d heard of Lady Servalan, she wasn’t the type to persuade a man through gentle means. Or rather, the people in her employ weren’t.

After that, he could remember most of what had happened. Life as a privateer, hunting down ships in the name of the Empire. He went about his duty as diligently as any loyal citizen might, because he was told to.

Then his memories returned.

Not all of them, but some. Blake would be at the helm of his ship, looking across at the sun as it sparkled on the sea, and suddenly he was in a different place. A different ship’s wheel beneath his calloused hands, a different horizon ahead. The memories came in flashes, and slowly he began to piece together the fragments of who he had been.

There were other things, too. Mysterious letters from people claiming to know him, imploring him to join their cause in the name of old friendships long-lost. Odd looks from passers-by on land, words said in corners that were hushed the second he entered the room. The dawning suspicion that the people he served were more corrupt than he could imagine, and the rediscovery of those moving against them. Before he knew it, Blake found himself at a secret meeting of anti-Empire agitators. It was to be the beginning of a new life resisting the Empire – using his position to give them information and disrupt things where they could. He was to be a mole, an informant from deep within the Empire’s ranks. The people there were friendly, grateful for his aid. They said that they had known him, before.

They hadn’t the chance to say much more. The Empire knew of their gathering all along, and burst in through the doors. Those who weren’t killed outright were arrested, Blake among them. There were trials – a farce of democracy – then they were sentenced. Transportation to the Americas. A long voyage across the sea, and then? Toil in a prisoner’s colony for the rest of their lives.

Before too long, they were on the prison ship _London_ , headed for the colonies. That was where he met the others, or most of them at least. Who would have known, then, that he’d turn pirate with them once more?

Vila and Jenna were the first. He met them in a cell in London, before they were loaded onto the ship. Vila was a thief, a street rat turned career criminal. He boasted that there wasn’t a lock in the Empire that he couldn’t crack – except, of course, the one on the bars of their prison. Jenna was a smuggler, the best of the free-traders who brought illicit goods into England via the south coast. She was a captain, with her own ship and crew, until she had been caught thanks to a money-minded crewman ratting her out to gain favour with a rival smuggler band.

On the _London_ , two more of their crew had materialised. Gan was a farmer from one of the Scottish islands, who had killed an Empire guardsman after he had killed his wife. He was a large, twitchy guy, who, while happy to keep the more riotous prisoners off their backs, always seemed to back away from the idea of killing. Later conversations revealed the reason. Apparently the guards hadn’t taken too kindly to the fact that he had killed one of their own, and saw fit to torture the poor man while he was in his cell. He could barely even think of ending someone’s life without being nauseous at first, and even in their last fight Blake could see him pale when he was looking across Travis’ ship.

Then there was Avon. He had known Avon, at least by reputation. He was the best cartographer in the Empire, plotting fast and safe routes for shipping for the navy and merchants in England. It was said that he had conspired with a smuggler to reroute some particularly valuable shipping into an ambush, then when things went awry, was sold out to the guards and put into prison. Blake didn’t have much to do with him, at first. Avon was a reserved, prickly man, and if he caught wind of Blake’s plotting to escape, Blake had no illusions that he wouldn’t sell them all out to the guards if there was something in it for him.

But Avon had not seen fit to do that. In fact, he even helped with their first, failed, escape attempt – however reluctantly. He was with Jenna and Blake when they were all put in the brig for being the ringleaders of the little revolt, and he was by their sides when the ship appeared on the horizon.

Blake found himself smiling at the memory of it. The _Liberator_. Even to this day, he still had no idea where she had come from. He remembered the moment he had seen her first, standing up on the deck with Jenna and Avon, their wrists chained. The ship’s black sails loomed out of the fog, its dark wood hiding the deck from view. The figurehead, a crudely carved wooden skeleton holding a cutlass, grinned eerily at them as they listened to Captain Leylan explaining the situation, one of his guards scowling at his side.

He had already sent men across to capture her, but they weren’t yet back. The ship was so much taller than their own, and they couldn’t see what had happened to them. So, Leylan told them, they were being sent across to find the others.

The guard smirked at this – it was Raiker, the brute who had caught them earlier. He explained that if they weren’t back within the hour, and there was no sign of them, they’d be presumed dead and left behind. Beside him, Blake felt Avon bristle, and Blake knew what he was thinking. If the guards on the ship killed the three prisoners, then they would have no more escape attempts, and the guards wouldn’t have to report that they’d murdered them.

They loosed their chains before they climbed the rigging to cross to the new ship. Blake remembered the creak of the wood beneath his feet, the rough ropes beneath his hands, the way the cold fog seemed to seep into his skin. He glanced below, to the guards with their muskets pointed at the trio, before loosing a rope and swinging across to the new ship. The deck was deserted, nothing but disused rope and chipped planks of wood lying about.

“This is a beautiful ship,” Jenna said, running her hand down the rail with obvious admiration. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Avon shook his head. “Don’t get distracted,” he snapped. “This ‘beautiful’ ship seems to have made the guardsmen vanish.”

Blake turned to say something to Jenna, but something caught his eye before he could speak. A vision, unearthly and unfolding behind his eyes. Someone he recognised, but couldn’t remember. A figure standing near the rail, screaming his name. Screaming for his help.

He took a step forward instinctively, then stopped. His memories at that time were still as foggy as the air around them, and something about this didn’t seem right. He had trained himself to discern if something he saw was truly there or just a hallucination, and this felt wrong. There had been nobody on the deck, not a soul. Who was this person, dim and misty in the fog, that called his name as though they knew him?

Beside him, Jenna and Avon were moving forwards, with the same strange determination that he had just felt. He called out a warning, grabbing Jenna’s arm before she could rush forwards. Avon skidded to a halt just before the rail, and glanced down into the grey and swirling sea that he had just avoided being tipped into.

“Well,” Avon said, his sarcasm cutting through the cold air. “I think we can guess what happened to the guards.”

Blake took a step forward, ready to say something, when another voice boomed across the deck.

“Welcome, Roj Blake, Kerr Avon, Jenna Stannis,” it said. Blake’s eyes darted around, looking for the person who was speaking. “This ship will follow your commands.”

“Who are you?” Avon called, his brow furrowed.

The air before them seemed to shimmer for a second, and Avon darted backwards, cautiously. In front of them instead stood a man, dressed in outdated clothing with one hand on the hilt of a sword in his belt. He seemed to be made of fog and sea-mist – his transparent features barely visible. His face was neutral.

“Zen,” he said. “You seem to require a visual reference. This is your reference point.”

Blake felt himself grinning, though Jenna and Avon were still gawping at the ghostly figure that had appeared to them. Before he had time to think, he was ordering the ship to turn away from the _London_ , and before the captain of the prison ship knew what had happened, they were well away to freedom.

Jenna, still pale, stared at Zen as the ship moved about them without prompting, her stricken face disbelieving what she was seeing. The spectral man moved forward, his hand extended to Jenna. “Your thoughts have been noted. The _Liberator_ will sail under your command.”

“The _Liberator_?” Blake asked. It seemed a good name for his ship, almost like a promise.

“Something I was thinking…” Jenna put a hand to her forehead. “But how did he know?”

Avon scoffed, staring over the rail at the disappearing silhouette of the _London._ “Ridiculous,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “Completely and utterly ridiculous.”

After that, they had the upper hand. Avon was no sailor, and spent a fair amount of his time in the captain’s cabin complaining of seasickness while Jenna and Blake debated what to do next. Though the ship was moving on its own, Blake reasoned that he still needed a crew, at least to do the fighting for him. Jenna was wary, but together they plotted a course for the prison colony.

There they had picked up Vila and Gan, though none of the others ended up joining them. Disappointed, but with a new sense of freedom, Blake had set out around the Americas, in search of something beside their ship that would give them an edge against the Empire.

The last member of their crew had been picked up not long after. Cally had been a rebel against the Empire, hiding out on a small and uninhabited island in the Caribbean. She was the last survivor of her group, ready to set out in a rowboat on a mission to destroy a nearby island garrison. Blake had convinced her to join the _Liberator_ instead, and she had proved an excellent markswoman and fighter. Her intuition was uncanny; Blake swore that sometimes she could read his mind. Besides that, she had the best eye of everyone in the crew. She could usually be found in the crow’s nest, eagle eyes scanning the flags of passing ships and judging them to be friend or foe.

As if on cue, Blake was startled out of his musing by three mugs of ale being slammed onto the table before him. He glanced up at an irritated Cally, taking her seat as Jenna’s voice cut across his thoughts.

“…swear these barmen are getting bolder,” she was saying. “Every tavern we go to, they try and charge me more.”

Cally smirked. “If his face when you pulled your knife is anything to go by, he thought you were an easy mark.”

“He thought wrong,” said Jenna, taking a swig from her mug and grimacing. “This stuff isn’t worth half what I paid. What a waste of time.”

Blake picked up his own mug, sipping it tentatively. Sure enough, the liquid within was sour and watery. “I see what you mean,” he said, pushing the pint away from him.

Cally sighed, pulling a sheaf of paper from her jacket. In the dim light, Blake could only just recognise it as some of the documents they had picked up from the _Lady Servalan_. “We have had bad luck all around,” Cally said, holding them out to Blake. “I picked these up from Avon before we left, but the ones he could translate are mostly useless. Out of date information, or just not in our interest.”

She paused, leaning in a little closer. “There was something, however, that may be of note.” She tapped the top document with one finger.

“What is it?”

Jenna smiled. “Our main problem is that we don’t know the Empire’s latest codes. When we capture ships, we’re stuck with old things we already knew, or incomprehensible gibberish. But this mentions something the Empire are working on that might help us, if we got our hands on it.”

Blake was nodding, his mind already reeling at the possibilities of such a thing. “But what is it?”

“A clockwork man.” Cally’s voice was barely over a whisper. “They call it ‘Orac’. From the description, it seems to be a sort of automaton. It looks like a man sitting at a table, holding a quill. You give it a message in English, and it can translate it into code, and vice-versa. Its inventor is something of a recluse – nominally, he is creating it for the Empire, but he is so far out of their way that we could easily intercept it.”

“That’s not all, Blake,” Jenna interrupted. “What we read seemed to imply it was…well, that it could think for itself.”

Blake frowned. “How do you mean?”

“They describe people asking it questions, and it writing down the answers. Complicated equations, obscure trivia – it knows everything, according to this. It even says that some people think it’s possessed, somehow.”

The trio shared knowing looks. Blake knew they were all thinking of the same thing – if Zen existed, why not this ‘Orac’? If it was real, and all that they said it was, it would be a powerful weapon in his hands. Especially if the Empire didn’t know that he had it.

“At the very least, it’s worth having a look.” Cally said, sliding the papers to Blake.

“Thanks,” he said, putting them in his pocket as he stood. “I think I’ll look over them on the ship, though. I can barely hear myself think in here.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jenna, raising her mug to her lips for a second, pausing, then setting it back down again. “I don’t think we’ll stay here all that long, either.”

Blake smiled. “Keep an eye on Vila, will you? It wouldn’t do if he falls off a pier again.”

“No promises,” Jenna said, her eyes glittering. Blake gave both women a mock-salute, before heading back out into the night.

Outside was a lot colder than the stuffy warmth of the inn. Blake pulled his coat closed, shoving his hands into his pockets and keeping his eyes on the ground. He was acutely aware of the fact that he had a price on his head. This may have been a safe port, but it was a safe port for pirates, and every man jack of them would sell Blake and his crew out if they had the chance. Thankfully, the walk to the ship was short, and before too long Blake was making his way up the gangplank to a familiar deck.

The sky was a deep shade of navy, the full moon glittering on the water around the ship. The moonlight washed the deck with an eerie grey light, and for a moment Blake remembered the first time he had seen it, a ghost ship in the fog. He smiled, his hand caressing the rail as he wandered up the deck, salt air filling his lungs.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted something; a glint of candle light from above him. He looked up, to see the familiar sight of Avon standing by the wheel, his hands clasped behind his back. He was staring across the ship into the horizon – imagining, no doubt, what it would be like to captain the ship himself. Blake called out a greeting and he started, blinking down at Blake as though he had been in a trance.

By then, Blake had already scaled the few steps to stand beside him. Avon looked across at Blake, a scowl curling his lips.

“That was a stupid risk you took today,” he said. “We won’t last another few poor decisions like that.”

Blake sighed, already tired of this argument. “It paid off in the end.” He retrieved the coded documents from his pocket, holding them out in front of Avon. “We have a lead.”

“At last.” Avon’s face was a stone. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d be sailing blind forever. Now we have some cockamamie story about a magical automaton to chase.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice; it was clear that he was not impressed.

Blake raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe it?”

“A mechanical man that can talk to you?” Avon turned to face Blake, a vague hint of amusement prickling in his face. “Am I expected to believe such fanciful stories?”

Blake swept an arm out, indicating the deck. “Avon, you live on a ship piloted by a ghost.”

“And I am not entirely sure that Zen isn’t some mad hallucination.” Avon shook his head. “Besides which, we almost didn’t escape today. What happens when your schemes get one of us killed, Blake?”

“They won’t.” Blake’s voice was firm, his jaw set.

Avon scoffed. “Not even you can promise that. And then, when your glorious band is suddenly reduced to five? You have precious few resources to waste.”

“You expect me to just sit back? Let the Empire carry on torturing and murdering its citizens?” Blake hadn’t meant to get swept into this conversation, but he couldn’t help himself. He was facing Avon now, his expression full of righteous indignation. Avon was as stoic as ever, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“I expect you to have some sense of self-preservation,” Avon said. There was bitterness in his voice, bitterness that Blake didn’t want to acknowledge. Not then, not in that mood. “Do you know what you could do with a ship like this, where you could go? The Empire has nothing like it. You could be a free man, Blake.”

Blake closed his eyes, running one hand through his hair. “I would rather be a good man than a free man,” he said softly. “No matter what that entails.”

Avon was silent, staring stoically into the distance once again. Blake would have given anything to read his thoughts then, to actually know what was going through his mind. But he offered no response, and Blake began to turn away and head back down to the main deck. As he reached the foot of the steps, he heard Avon’s voice again, distant and oddly quiet.

“You’re fighting a losing battle, Blake.”

But before Blake could respond, there was a noise from the docks. A drunken, reedy voice drifted up to the two of them, and Blake crossed over to the rail to identify its source.

“So-o help me Gan, I’m bully in the a-a-lley…” sang a voice that was unmistakeably Vila’s. Blake looked over and squinted into the darkness. As he expected, four figures were approaching them from the docks – Jenna and Cally, walking arm in arm, both turning periodically to look back at Vila, who was propped up on Gan’s shoulder and warbling into the night.

Blake rolled his eyes. He turned his head again, looking back at Avon, but he had disappeared – gone back to his cabin, no doubt. By the time the four remaining crew members reached the deck, Blake was leaning by the gangplank, one eyebrow raised in an expression of affected amusement.

“That didn’t take you long,” he said to Cally, who was leading the others up the gangplank.

Cally shrugged. “There was not much to stay for. Especially since Vila was close to squandering _all_ our ill-gotten gains.”

Blake glanced at Vila, whose ruddy face and lumbering gait betrayed how much he had drunk. “So it would seem,” he muttered. “You should get some rest. I’ll take first watch.” Although Zen could sail the ship single-handedly, Blake still liked to have someone on deck just in case something happened. Cally nodded, disappearing down the hatchway to her sleeping quarters. Jenna followed, bidding Blake good night as she passed.

“Fare-well and ad-ieu, to-o you Spanish Ladies,” Vila was singing as he stumbled his way onto the ship.

Gan smiled apologetically. “He won’t stop singing for anything,” he said, by way of explanation. “And believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Just get him to bed,” Blake said. “And yourself, too.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind taking first watch.”

Blake shook his head. “I need some time to think. I’ll wake someone when I get tired.”

“If you’re sure,” said Gan, propelling Vila down towards the hatchway. Blake watched them go, then turned back to face the helm.

There was Zen, standing mutely by the wheel, his shadowy figure almost invisible in the gloom. Blake raised a hand to him, and watched as the ghostly man nodded slowly in acknowledgement.

“Zen, set a course out of here,” he said, and watched as the capstan began to creak into motion, raising the anchor. There would be time to reprimand Vila in the morning, to try and patch things up with Avon, to make plans with Cally and Jenna. But for now, the sea stretched before them, wild and free, the sapphire water glinting in the moon’s light. And, at that moment, standing on the deck and looking out over his ship, that was all Blake needed.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was something I have been wanting to write for a while - a proper Pirates AU! While I've tried to maintain a vague sense of historical accuracy (apart from the obvious deliberate deviations like ghosts and sentient automatons) I feel it turned out a little more Pirates of the Caribbean than actual history. But I happen to like Pirates of the Caribbean, so no loss there.
> 
> One day, I might write a continuation to this. There was a fair amount of thought put into how things from the show translate to this AU, and I'd love to show you guys some of the ideas I have that didn't end up in this fic.


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